


The Land Of The Eternal Blue Sky

by Alinav



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-13 00:03:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7954231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alinav/pseuds/Alinav
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Auror Samuel Malhotra lives a tranquil life working for the Ministry of Magic, until he's suddenly sent to the other side of the world on a quest to figure out how mongolian wizards manipulate their magic. There, he meets a mysterious man who will help him figure out the secrets of ancient magic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Land Of The Eternal Blue Sky

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own the wizarding world - that is property of J.K Rowling. The only thing I own in this whole mess are my original characters.
> 
> This work probably won't feature any of the main characters in the wizarding universe, so if you came here expecting to see Harry Potter & Co. batling the forces of evil, I am very sorry, but you won't find it. This, though, is subject to change, and I may introduce some known characters as the story unfolds. 
> 
> English is not my first language and this story is unbetaed, meaning there's probably quite a few errors in the text. If you spot one, feel free to let me know and I'll correct them inmediately. Also, for all that I love Mongolia and its culture, I can't speak a single word of mongolian, and rely heavily on the google translate feature (which we all know is very unreliable) so, if a mongol happens to stumble upon this and wants to correct me or give me tips, you are most welcome!
> 
> I'll shut up now and let you read in peace. Comments and general feedback (but specially comments, I want to know what you guys think) are extremely appreciated. Enjoy!

 

This work is based on a particular headcanon of mine involving mongol wizars and traditional tuvan throat singing (if you want to know exactly what I'm talking about, check this post [here](http://navalize.tumblr.com/post/149840086198/ok-but-i-need-jk-rowling-to-write-me-a-mongolian)).

 

* * *

 

Winter in Mongolia is long, harsh and unforgiving. The air hangs grey over their heads, the cold bites at their bones and the locals keep looking up to the sky, silently asking Tengri when life will bloom again over the steppe.

Auror Samuel Malhotra can’t help but wonder with them. Two months ago he barely remembered the existence of this place and now here he is, stuck somewhere between UlaanBaatar and Delgertsogt, braving a snow blizard on his way back to Tengerleg Gazar.

The mongolian wizarding school stands in the middle of the steppe and closely resembles one of the temples scattered all over the capital. It’s surrounded by gers, the accomodations of teachers, students, and foreigners (foreigner, really) alike. Overall, it’s small. Incredibly small in the eyes of someone who grew up between the great stone walls of Hogwarts. But it’s home, at least for now.

It’s not his first time on a mission like this. The ministry has sent him over to other schools before. Durmstrang, Mahoutokoro and Beauxbatons are familiar sights by now, and he’s even been to Uagadou a few times (not really his division - a fellow auror is in charge of both Uagadou and Castelobruxo), but it is his first time being sent to the middle of nowhere with nothing but a portkey and vague instructions about a spell guide.

Because the thing is, he’s currently here, drowning in snow, simply because no one but mongol wizards themselves understands how they cast their spells. Possibly because no one had bothered to look twice at them, much less actually study them, until a few days before his departure to this barren place. He remembers a figure in strange looking robes with long hair walking soundlessly around the corridors of the Ministry of Magic, followed by the wispers of the Unspeakables and their curious glances. The following week he was summoned and shipped to the other side of the world. He suspects it probably has a lot to do with that wild mane of raven black hair - and the person behind it.

It’s probably not such a wild guess, considering that very figure is staring right at him from the entrance of one of the gers, much like it did the day he got to the school (anti-apparition wards at Tengerleg Gazar work very much like Hogwarts’s do, even if he has no idea how they’re casted - meaning you either bounce off them or resign yourself to apparating someplace close to the school and waiting for someone to come fetch you). Tumurbaatar Soronzonbold, professor at the mongolian wizarding school (he still hasn’t figured out exactly what it is that he teaches), powerful wizard and… that’s about it. All he knows for certain about this man is that his name means “Iron Hero”, his eyes are a startling grey, and he’s not opposed to being called simply “Tumur”. Still, he makes good company, and is the only person around in many miles who speaks english well enough to hold a proper conversation.

Judging by the quirk of his thin lips, almost set in a smirk, he must make quite the sight: wraped up to his nose in a fur trimmed deel and knee-deep in snow, struggling against the wind, his half-long hair an absolute mess under the hat. It’s already been two months and he can’t make do with the weather. He suspects he’ll never get used to it - too extreme for a city boy, as the elders like to joke. Tumur, playing the gracious host, holds the door for him and he stumbles inside on half frozen legs, removing his mittens. He says nothing, but there’s something dancing on his almond shaped eyes that looks suspiciously like “I told you so”. As he closes the ger’s door, it shimmers down to sympaty. Samuel must truly look like a drowned rat.

And all his efforts for nothing. He ignored the warnings of the snow storm to go wandering around in the hopes of understanding the place a bit better and only managed to get lost on his way back, taking twice the time it took him to reach the edge of the school grounds. All he got clear was that the school, though in the middle of the steppe, was located in some sort of mountain, probably magical and most deffinitely hidden from muggle eyes. Not worth the four hours walking and the near hypothermia. Heaving a sight, he accepts the khuushuur his host offers him, cursing the ministry under his breath for sending him on a blind mission.

The mongol school puzzles him. It’s small and not really organized. He hasn’t seen any brooms around, but there are a bunch of horses and bikes (he knows for a fact these fly, much like Hagrid’s did). Tumur himself owns a Harley. It seems the preferred transportation medium for wizards around here. It's disconcerting, how there are so many muggle elements mixed seamesly into the everyday life, yet he can feel ancient magic thrumming under his feet. It doesn’t look like these people care much about pure-blood nonsense.

He goes back to his parchment and quill in an attempt to draw a map of the perimeter of the mountain to add to his plans of the school while Tumur continues to practice traditional mongolian script sitting cross-legged in the middle of the ger. He has graceful hands and flicks his wrist with decision, connecting all the words with the characteristic vertical spine. Sam swears one day he’ll learn how to do that, but he’s currently still struggling with the cyrillic alphabet they use in everyday life. You’d have thought after all his prolonged stays in Durmstrang he’d have basic notions of it, but languages have never been his forte, and for all that it is written similarly, to him mongolian sounds like someone chocking on russian. Still, he’s been picking things here and there, just enough to comunicate with the locals on a basic level. He’s gotten pretty good at asking for food.

They spend the rest of the evening like that, working in comfortable silence while the storm rages outside. It doesn’t look like it’ll stop anytime soon, and eventually they call it a night and get ready for bed. Exhausted from the walk, Samuel falls asleep before his head hits the pillow, spread like a starfish and nearly falling off the side of the cot; and Tumur, chuckling at his companions antics, blows the candles and follows him into slumber.

 

* * *

 

He wakes to the sound of howling in the distance and a light on the other side of the ger. Tumur is awake, holding his lit wand and listening intendly. The storm is still raging outside, and for a moment an eerie stillness holds the place. Then start the alarmed shouts that mix with the frightened sounds of the horses, and suddenly there's people running around in all directions.

The cold feels like a slap when Tumur wrenches the door open in his haste to get out. Neither of them are dressed for it, but the mongolian wizard doesn't seem to notice, and just keeps running and shouting things in fast paced mongolian. Samuel is utterly lost, standing in the snow and shivering so hard his teeth clatter together. And then he hears it. A howl, this time closer than before.

Wolves.

That's why the horses panicked. It doesn't make sense. The school is surrounded by wards to keep all threats out, mere animals should not have been able to get in. Someone's brought the wards down to let them through. As things clear in his sleep fogged mind, he realises: they're under attack. They're under attack, his wand is still resting under his pillow inside the ger he can no longer see and he has lost Tumurbaatar. He's completely defenceless, and he's bad enough at wandless magic to know it won't save him if he needs it.

He starts waddling around, desperately trying to find a familiar face or a place to hide, but he can't see his own feet through the blizard beating around him. A sudden flash in the sky makes him raise his head and - oh. A different kind of cold spreads through his body as his blood freezes in his veins. The dark mark. It's been years since it last appeared, so why now? Why here?

He has no time to dwell on these questions. A growl to his left, the glint of fangs in the darkness and adrenaline kicks in, propelling him forward. He runs blindly, and soon there's not only a set of paws, but also several sets of feet chasing him. If he stops, he'll be nothing but a mangled corpse by the time anyone finds him. Judging by the size of the animals he can see from the corner of his eyes, a few of them are no regular beasts, possibly werewolves. He's never wished for his wand harder in his life.

You see, he's never been a very lucky fellow. He probably used up all his luck that one time in Hogwarts when he got too close to the whomping willow and somehow managed to get away unscated save for a scratch on the cheek (the scar remains). So he isn't even surprised when his foot catches on a hole and he loses his footing, hitting the ground hard. This is it. This is where he dies. In the middle of nowhere, surrounded by death eaters whose faces he can't make out in the dark. Resigned, he closes his eyes to save himself the sight of razor sharp teeth clamping around his jugular. He'll most definitely feel it anyways.

He can already feel the creature's breath on his neck when his ears catch something. It's dificult to make out over the roaring of the wind but it sounds... it sounds like a thousand voices singing. And it's getting closer. The death eaters still, listening, and yes, he can hear it clearly now: those are the voices of the mongols. He's heard this before, reverberating through the stone halls of Tengerleg Gazar on a clear November morning with it's particular two toned, almost whistling melody.

He opens his eyes. It's throart singing. And maybe something more, because the figures getting closer are all repeating the same wand movement to the rythm of the wordless song floating in the air. A thousand lights start glowing amidst the falling snow and three things happen at once: a blinding flash of light and heat knocks the attackers back a good 70 meters, the remaining wolves are pushed out by the herdsmen who have regained control over the frightened horses and he sees the wards around the school raising again and settling in place. He's half frozen from laying on the snow, but he needs to make sure the threat has passed, so he makes an effort to stand up, just in time to watch the death eaters apparate away. The last thing he sees is Tumur's worried face as he runs towards him, and then the world goes black.


End file.
